Silver Shrapnel

Cold hard doubt, The wicked, serrated blade Hacks through my core; The blood, like bile Rising to my throat, And the sick, silver shrapnel Encase my heart In an icy grip with the Metalic taste of betrayal on my lips, The bittersweet pleasure Of a ghost's spiteful kiss Sending shivers rippling Across my blue skin, Setting fear of the unknown Into the heart of man

And still, I wonder: What if...? And still, I fear

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